Here is the last of Tom Nichols’ (a comment in three parts,” reviewing Mark Kramer’s assessment of the collapse of the USSR. I’ll repeat a point made in Parts One and Two– this is historical background for assessing current events from Ukraine to Uzbekistan. The section discussing “Implications For Theory” provides a gauge for assessing the “democratic surge” in Central Asia and the Middle East.
Again, a thank you to Tom for letting me re-post his commentary.
Comment on Mark Kramer, “The Collapse of East European Communism and the Repercussions within the Soviet Union,” Parts I-III, Journal of Cold War Studies, 5 (4), 6 (4), and (7) 1.
PART III: “That Such a Fortress Would Fall…”
In his final installment, Kramer discusses the recriminations and debates that broke out at the top ranks of the Soviet elite over the collapse of the Soviet alliance system in Europe. This is not merely to catalog the anguish of Soviet communists; rather he links this debate to an increasing loss of ideological faith among Soviet leaders and the consequent loss of the regime’s will to defend itself. He then considers the implications of his findings for the theoretical literature on democratization and change.
The Agony of the Armed Forces
Perhaps nowhere in Soviet society was the collapse of East European socialism felt more keenly than among the men of the Soviet armed forces. Not only were Soviet officers more ideologically orthodox than most of their fellow citizens, their view of Soviet history was also more sharply focused through the lens of the Second World War. For many of them, Eastern Europe was territory (as Leonid Brezhnev once told the deposed Czech leaders of 1968) that had been bought and paid for with the blood of the Soviet soldier. As Kramer notes, the loss of Eastern Europe generated deep tension in civil-military relations, and “was one of the factors that prompted the coup attempt” in 1991. (III, 5)
Actually, military officers were uncomfortable with Gorbachev’s defense policies well before 1991, as Kramer notes. Gorbachev’s “new thinking” came under attack as early as 1986, with Soviet officers objecting to it on both ideological and practical grounds. Everything from his nuclear disarmament policies to his decidedly un-Marxist belief that international relations should be conducted between states, rather than classes, came in for pointed military criticism. “Little did they imagine,” Kramer writes, “that Gorbachev would also soon preside over the disintegration of the Warsaw Pact.” (III, 5)
With regard to Eastern Europe, the warning signs from the military were clear as the events of 1989 unfolded. There was increased public mention of the previously taboo subject of the invasion of Hungary in 1956, as well as open and laudatory discussion of the Polish military’s imposition of martial law in 1981. For the Soviet military, 1989 was nothing less than counterrevolution, and as such had to be dealt with as with all counterrevolutionary attempts: forcefully.
A sense of personal tragedy and profound humiliation ran high among senior officers in this period. Defense Minister Dmitrii Yazov later said that he felt as if “his whole life was being betrayed” as the regimes of the Warsaw Pact imploded. (III _) Other officers expressed similar sentiments, and Kramer could well have filled an entire chapter with them. For example, Gen. Valentin Varennikov, head of Soviet Ground Forces and the only man tried (and acquitted) in the 1991 coup, told the extremist daily _Zavtra_ in 1994:
“In 1990 Gorbachev, as you know, accepted capitulation on the West’s terms…If I and my compatriots in ‘45 had ever thought that such a fate awaited us, that such a monolith, such a fortress, as our state [derzhava] would be overthrown without a battle… [ellipses in original]” [3]
These officers were predictably joined by CPSU cadres, and together the position this hardline bloc took was one infused by nostalgia and an inability to see the beyond the world of 1945. There were alarmed comments about the loss of “buffers” and the betrayal of the victory over Fascism–as if Germany were ready to roll her tanks eastward across the fields of Europe once more at any moment.
Gorbachev’s intellectual defenders, such as Viacheslav Dashichev, were deployed to counter these retrograde ideas, but they might just as well have saved the breath in their lungs and the ink in their pens. The Soviet military were still thinking in terms of the “combat readiness” of the Warsaw Pact even into 1990, a concern so detached from the reality of the situation as to be almost a source of comedy were it not held by men who at the time still commanded the second-most powerful military force in the world.
New Thinking and Old Thinking
What is particularly frightening about this period is the inability of Soviet officers to think in any terms but those of the coldest days of the Cold War. When asked in early 1990 about the developments in Eastern Europe, the chief of the Strategic Rocket Forces, Igor Sergeev, answered this way:
“Parity was meant for the status quo. Our defensive doctrine takes account of the existing grouping and deployment of forces. If we lose our expanse [in Eastern Europe], we will be closer to danger. If, under conditions of parity, someone loses, that means someone else gains.” (III, 13)
But by 1990, one would have to ask: someone else gains _what_? What, exactly, was the concern of Soviet officers about a buffer in Eastern Europe? Did anyone in the USSR really fear a NATO invasion? (In fairness, I have asked this same question of advocates of NATO expansion eastward, which seems to me to be a solution in search of a problem. Does anyone really fear the Third Shock Army returning to roll over newly-independent Ukraine on its way into Poland or Germany? Why, exactly, is Romania or Bulgaria being invited to NATO? Are they in danger?)
Kramer notes that Sergeev seemed to speak for the large majority of senior officers. And so he did, but Col. Gen. Albert Makashov, the commander of the Volga-Urals military district, would turn up the heat in March 1990 by publicly referring to Gorbachev as a “pacifist” and “dilettante” who should be “required to undergo a three-month remedial course at the General Staff Academy.” This attack by so senior an officer, Kramer notes, “loosened the floodgates” and soon Gorbachev’s policies were openly condemned in the major Soviet media, including Pravda and Krasnaia Zvezda. (III, 14) Makashov, it should be noted, would later go on to be one of the most retrograde Soviet nostalgists in the new Russia, the man who stood with Ruslan Khasbulatov and the “red-black” bloc of authoritarians who took over the Russian White House in 1993, shouting that the supporters of Boris Yeltsin were traitors to the motherland and vowing that they would “wash in their own blood.”[4]
At the highest levels of the political leadership, Gorbachev’s chief critic was Egor Ligachev, a conservative who had begun his tenure on the Politburo in the 1980s more or less as a Gorbachev ally and who now emerged as a dedicated opponent, particularly of the new Soviet foreign policy line. Kramer details the fencing that took place between Ligachev and Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze, a man hated to this day by many former Soviet officers for what they see as his betrayal of the Union. Like the military, Ligachev saw the world primarily through the prism of Marxism-Leninism, and in fact blamed the loss of Eastern Europe on “certain [Soviet] officials” who tried to “gloss over the class nature of international relations.” He
also exhibited an utterly irrational fear of Germany, arguing that German reunification would “completely erase the results of the Second World War.” (III, 15)
Even in 1990, it had to be clear to even the dimmest observer that Germany was so knee-deep in helpless pacifism that it was hard to imagine the Germans defending _themselves_, much less attacking a powerful neighbor to the east (especially without American backing), but Soviet conservatives were lost in a haze of reflexive fear that had little to do with actual threats and everything to do with a lifetime lived in a closed propaganda system.
Against this, Shevardnadze and others tried to turn the tables and point out that the situation in Eastern Europe had become volatile by the 1980s precisely due to the kind of rigid and ideological thinking of conservatives like Ligachev. He also decried the history of Soviet heavy-handedness in the region, including “forcibly imposing leaders suitable to us.” (III, 16) But as Kramer points out, this just added fuel to the fire in Moscow, and the attacks on Gorbachev and his team escalated, with the predictions of imminent military disaster in Europe becoming at times nearly apocalyptic.
A mystery that Kramer does not attempt to explain is why Gorbachev didn’t take stronger action against some of these critics. In 1989, he finally did remove several high-ranking leaders from the Central Committee (the so-called “dead souls” who had already lost their state positions), and he had already fired some of the most obstinate military figures like Warsaw Pact chief Viktor Kulikov. But he continued to surround himself with people like Yazov, whom he promoted to Marshal of the Soviet Union in 1990, an act that was terribly misread by some Western Sovietologists as showing Gorbachev’s strength over the military rather than his weakness.[5]
Still, Kramer insightfully notes that even men like Yazov and the new commander of the Warsaw Pact, Piotr Lushev (who was a definite improvement over Kulikov) “increasingly sensed that their main task was simply to keep the Pact from disappearing.”(III, 17) Gorbachev’s advisors pressed this point, arguing that German membership in NATO was a done deal and that any further argument over it would emphasize Soviet weakness and push the Pact closer to oblivion. The nations of Eastern Europe were already inclined to dissolve their last bonds to the USSR, and Soviet thundering about threats from the West would only encourage them along a direction that would be impossible to stop short of outright war.
The military answer to this was to slow the withdrawal of Soviet forces, and this ideologically charged issue quickly became bound up in the much more practical matter of where tens of thousands of Soviet soldiers and their families were going to sleep once they returned to the Motherland. But now the conservatives were on the defensive; the host countries wanted Soviet forces out, and even at home, more liberal voices were questioning whether the Warsaw Pact itself was ever necessary in the first place.
Kramer describes how the debate came to a head at the founding congress of the Russian Communist Party in 1990, where conservatives like Makashov and Ligachev vented their rage at the loss of Eastern Europe and laid the blame squarely on Gorbachev, Yeltsin, and others. This prompted Shevardnadze to warn that what such people wanted were nothing less than “witch hunts” like those that had occurred in the U.S. during the McCarthy era, and he pointedly referred to people like Makashov as seeing Eastern Europe not as nations liberated from Nazism but virtually seized as “trophies of war.” (III 26)
The End Approaches
The story Kramer tells in this part of his narrative is interesting not only because of the window it provides into internal Soviet debates as the system collapsed, but also because it shows that this depth of political disagreement among the elite essentially guaranteed that the regime would be unable to defend itself either by force or argument in the face of increasing centrifugal tendencies. As the peoples of the USSR now began to emulate their former comrades in Eastern Europe, the regime was paralyzed by internal argument so severe that no compromise was possible. There was no way to find a common language with people like Makashov, who was still happily living in the Stalinist past.
Kramer spends a significant amount of time on the 28th Party Congress, held in July 1990 and destined to be the last such congress of the soon to be deceased CPSU. In fact, this section of his study is the only that I found too long; I don’t see the 28th Congress as a particularly important meeting. The debate broke down into predictable groupings, with Gorbachev’s allies opposing the military and party cadres, with the charges and countercharges much the same as had been heard throughout 1989 and 1990.
In any event, the Congress was already being overtaken by events in the republics, and so even at the time it seemed like a pointless (and powerless) gathering, especially now that Gorbachev had made the jump tothe new post of President of the USSR. Kramer notes that Gorbachev’s policies prevailed at the end of the Congress, but this was not a surprising outcome, as the conservatives by late 1990 were intellectually and ideologically a spent force, with only one option left to them–tte one they would exercise a year later to no avail.
Kramer sees the Congress as underscoring Gorbachev’s strength (especially since it spelled the end of Ligachev’s career when he crushingly lost his bid to be voted Deputy General Secretary), but Kramer’s observation sidesteps the point that the Congress showed only Gorbachev’s formal power over the Party itself. Gorbachev’s taming of the Party stood in stark contrast to his increasing weakness as the leader of the USSR itself.
Kramer makes much of the fact that Gorbachev moved quickly to end the argument over German unification, accepting a united Germany in NATO. In doing so, Kramer argues that “Gorbachev demonstrated his own strength and denied the anti-reformist group any opportunity to obstruct the process of German unification.” (III, 39)
This seems like an overly charitable interpretation in retrospect. At the time, it seemed more like Gorbachev had two choices with regard to German reunification: oppose it despite its inevitability, and thus be revealed to be utterly powerless, or accept it and appear more statesmanlike, while preempting any possible move by the Soviet opposition. In the end, Gorbachev met with Helmut Kohl, struck the best deal he could get from the German chancellor, and went on to gamely smile and accept something he had no chance of stopping anyway. (Or at least no chance short of nuclear war.) Why Kramer translates this as a demonstration of domestic strength is unclear, and he presents little evidence for this interpretation.
With the reunification deal finished in July, Kramer notes that this debate understandably went on the back burner, as it “seemed to become less urgent for many Soviet officials, who were preoccupied with the task of holding the Soviet Union together in the face of mounting economic and ethnic turmoil.” (III, 40)
But with German reunification now a reality, the issue for Soviet military leaders was to try to slow the increasing demands from the other Eastern European nations to simply liquidate the Warsaw Pact itself. Whatever their fears, real or otherwise, about the imperialist threat from the West, Soviet commanders simply had no place to put their people or equipment, and so they attempted, in effect, to blackmail countries like Hungary to gain material concessions for an orderly withdrawal.
In final, deliberate acts of spite (or more likely, paranoia), the Soviet military completely trashed the bases they left behind, making sure they contained nothing of worth and rendering them useless to “the enemy,” i.e., NATO. (III, 46)
The Conservative Retrenchment
Although the Soviet conservatives had lost just about every major policy battle between 1988 and 1990, Kramer points to the interesting fact that by late 1990, they had nonetheless effected a kind of political retrenchment in Moscow. Their ideas and their demands generally found few takers in the public at large either at home or abroad, but somehow, they had managed to increase the pressure on Gorbachev to alter course. Kramer does not explore how this happened, but implicit in his account is that the accelerating
humiliation of the USSR in Eastern Europe throughout 1990 had added at least some weight to their general criticism of Gorbachev’s “new thinking” in foreign policy. The rapid collapse of the Soviet position gave them the weapon of outraged patriotism to use against people like Shevardnadze, who resigned suddenly in December 1990 with the warning that “dictatorship” was coming.
Although Kramer does not discuss them, there were realignments of personnel that should have been the tip-off of darker things to come, and it would be interesting to know how they happened. The clearest sign of danger is that in early 1991, Boris Pugo, known for his tough tactics as a KGB chief in the Baltics, was moved to the Interior Ministry; his new deputy was Boris Gromov, who had commanded Soviet troops in Afghanistan. Putting the Interior Ministry in the hands of a KGB leg-breaker, with an experienced Soviet Army combat commander as his deputy, should have set off alarm bells in both East and West. (On a personal note, I was working for a U.S. senator at the time, and advised him that this meant a coup was likely in the offing in the spring of 1991, so I will claim one right call among some bobbled ones — such as my mistaken support for the first President Bush’s “Chicken Kiev” speech in the summer of 1991.)
What is still unclear–not least because Mikhail Gorbachev will not explain how he stupidly allowed it all to happen–is just how the debate over the loss of Eastern Europe in 1990 turned into a sudden, last-gasp rally for the conservatives. Did Gorbachev panic? Was there a critical mass of opinion among even his own advisors that things were now dangerously out of control?
What we do know, as Kramer tells us in a revealing fact, is that the Soviet leadership directed the CPSU International Department in early 1991 to provide major policy recommendations regarding the situation in Eastern Europe. Kramer describes the resulting document as a “dour assessment” of Soviet policy since 1991 which called for “vigorous action” to ensure that “under no circumstances will a real or potential threat to the military security of the Soviet Union arise in the East European region.” (III, 51-52)
Again, this is almost hallucinatory language, given that the USSR itself was on the verge of collapse, and one can only imagine what tortured and silly military scenario Soviet planners would have had to cook up in which Eastern Europe threatens Soviet territory, but it is testimony to the enduring power of ideology and history on human thought.
The International Department should not have bothered with its report, for as Kramer notes, the Eastern European governments reacted to the resurgence of the hardliners by threatening to dissolve the Pact unless a meeting of its political body, the Political Consultative Committee, was held immediately. The Soviet military tried to paint dire pictures of a world without the Pact, but to little effect. On February 25, 1991, a meeting lasting only three hours resulted in an agreement to disband the Warsaw Pact within a month.
Needless to say, the broadsides against Gorbachev escalated, again rising to hysterical levels. Intelligent attempts by people like Aleksandr Yakovlev to argue that a nation’s “greatness” no longer could be measured in purely military terms fell on deaf ears; indeed, the new Chief of the General Staff, Mikhail Moiseev, argued that the Soviet loss of Eastern Europe would mean that “the correlation of forces between the USSR and NATO from 1-to-1 at present to 1.5-to-1 in NATO’s favor, and even 2-to-1 for certain types of weapons.” (III, 57-58)
This kind of accounting of relative East-West strength, in a theater where Soviet forces held an overwhelming advantage, can only be considered either mendacious or ignorant, and Moiseev was by all accounts an intelligent officer. But he was not alone in such thinking, or at least in taking such a position publicly: I once publicly challenged a Soviet Air Force officer in 1989 to provide me with the data that showed the Soviet General Staff genuinely believed that NATO, at something like a 1-to-6 disadvantage, could actually initiate an attack against the Warsaw Pact. He told me he believed it possible, and that he would provide me the information. (For the record, I never got it.)
In the end, the Soviets attempted to negotiate bilateral arrangements with their former “allies” that would prevent them from joining NATO. The Eastern Europeans would have none of it. By mid-1991, the Pact was to all intents and purposes dead, and the USSR was soon to follow.
Kramer persuasively argues that the loss of Eastern Europe was one of the issues that bound the August 1991 conspirators. Indeed, it would be shocking if it were otherwise. While the proximate cause of the coup was the Union Treaty, the underlying causes were many, and the collapse of the Soviet system in Eastern Europe, with the consequent damage to the entire Soviet _raison d’etre_ itself, had to be prime among them. As Kramer writes:
“It was not surprising that the reunification of German ‘on the West’s terms,’ the ’sacrifice of gains achieved in the Great Patriotic War,’ and the ‘loss of our fraternal alliance’ were among the concerns cited by the instigators of the attempted coup d’etat in Moscow in August 1991. The start of the putsch on 19 August sparked intense anxiety in Eastern Europe, where some officials worried that a new, hardline regime in Moscow might seek to reestablish a dominating presence in the former Warsaw Pact countries….Not until the rebuff of the coup on 21 August and the dissolution of the Soviet Union as a whole four months later was it clear that Soviet hegemony in Eastern Europe was gone for good. “(III, 67)
Implications for Theory
To read the democratization literature of the 1980s and early 1990s was often frustrating for scholars studying the events in Eastern Europe (and not just because so much theoretical work in political science is so painfully convoluted and arid). The literature tended to draw heavily from experiences in Latin America, making the resulting models difficult to apply to the collapse of the Soviet empire. Many influences, including the experience of Stalinism, the utter destruction of previous social institutions, and the warped effects of central planning made the Russian and Eastern European path to democracy difficult to compare to what had happened in other areas of the world.
But perhaps most important, in terms of Kramer’s study, is that other authoritarian nations were not part of an international _system_, in which events in one state were unavoidable linked to events the others. Kramer notes that the previous literature on democratization, including the seminal work done by O’Donnell, Whitehead, and Schmitter, focused on local actors who come “under little or no influence from events outside the country.”(III, 71) Other studies (such as Huntington’s Third Wave) tried to grapple with the issue of “snowballing” and “demonstration effects” but as Kramer notes, these kinds of terms (including “diffusion,” “contagion” and “spillover”) “have not always been well specified in the literature…”
(III, 72)
To say the least. Indeed, the concept of “spillover” is one of those elusive concepts — like “deterrence,” perhaps — that we seem to know somehow _happens_, but we don’t know how or why, and we usually only see it operating in its result, rather than in progress.
Kramer tackles this imprecision, although his definition of “spillover” boils down to (1) the spread of reform and democratization from the USSR to Eastern Europe, and then (2) the effect of the implosion of Eastern European Communism on the USSR. The first stage is fairly clear in its mechanics: it turns out that when offered a choice, people in the region did not want to live under Communist dictatorships and overthrew them when the Soviets opened the door to that possibility. More important, however, is that Kramer fills in the actual steps in the next phase of the interaction between the USSR and its former allies:
“Direct effects [of the collapse of the Eastern European regimes on the USSR] included the emergence of new actors and governments in Eastern Europe that provided support to separatist and pro-democracy groups; the measures adopted by hardline Soviet officials to try to prevent the spread of unrest from Eastern Europe to the USSR; the steps taken by Soviet opposition groups and by newly-elected leaders in some of the union-republics (especially Russia and the Baltic republics) to counter the hardliners’ rearguard actions; and the high-level recriminations and acrimonious public debate in Moscow about the ‘loss’ of Eastern Europe, a debate that led to ever greater political polarization in the USSR but also detracted from the legitimacy of the Soviet regime. These effects, in combination, contributed to the collapse of the Soviet state.” (III, 72-73)
This, Kramer notes, is the tracing of the “microprocesses” of cross-border diffusion of ideas and practices, and this alone makes his study of extraordinary value. Kramer then takes us through six broad theoretical approaches about why this kind of diffusion takes place:
1. The realist explanation that stronger states simply impose their own preferences on weaker ones.
2. Structural realist explanations that states will adopt practices from each other to become more competitive.
3. Models of “rational learning” that may not necessarily be tied to structural considerations.
4. Constructivist notions of diffusion via social mobilization in response to changed international norms.
5. Spatial models emphasizing “neighborhood effects” due to geographic proximity.
6. “Concrete” spillover, as in the case of ethnic violence, when refugees from one state physically flee to another.
Kramer sees his study clarifying these explanations in a number of ways, and without doubt he has made a significant contribution in several areas.
First, he makes the interesting observation that the Eastern European case turns the realist explanation on its head, as a group of far weaker states promoted changes they wished to see in a far more powerful neighbor. “The ability of East European leaders and groups to intervene, with impunity, in the USSR’s internal affairs underscored how drastically the Soviet-East European relationship had changed.” (III, 81)
But central to this is the puzzle of why the Soviet Union tolerated this behavior, and Kramer’s study answers that question: because Soviet leaders, for ideological as well as practical reasons, were intent on implementing a set of policies whose logical effect was to render the use of force impossible as a matter of first principles.
Kramer also makes much of an obvious, but still important point, about communication. In another of the many ironies of the situation, he notes that insistence by the Warsaw Pact regimes for years that all their citizens study the Russian language became a “policy that came back to haunt them,” as those same citizens now eagerly followed the daily events of perestroika and glasnost in the USSR. (III, 83)
Not only were Eastern Europeans deeply informed about changes in the USSR, the effect rebounded as Soviet citizens likewise began to follow events in Eastern Europe, thus bearing out, as Kramer notes, the theory that diffusion is likelier to occur when the sources of change and the adopters of those changes are linguistically and culturally similar (or at least see themselves as culturally similar.) Further along, Kramer makes the similar point that the geographic clustering of the Warsaw Pact states also lends support to the idea of “neighborhood effects.”
Likewise, Kramer believes that the effects of the events in Eastern Europe on the ideological foundations of the USSR “shed interesting light on constructivist notions of norm diffusion and identity change,” and he is correct, although he needn’t have brought constructivism per se into it. What primarily makes constructivism useful, in my view, is that it proceeds from a common-sense assumption that the beliefs and identities of human beings matter in international relations, a necessary corrective to the silly and soulless grand-strategic billiard balls of stubborn realists. (Realism, we should recall, is a school of thought that led one of its most
famous practitioners to make the bizarre suggestion that it would be a good thing if more states gained nuclear weapons. But cataloguing the strange recommendations of realist theory is a project for another time and venue.)
Kramer’s study, insofar as it relates to constructivist issues, brings into stark relief how changes in human beings make changes in states possible. Kramer describes how even diehard Communists found themselves increasingly drawn toward norms associated with Western European style social democracy. “By all indications, the acceptance of these democratic norms was, for many, a genuine process of social learning, rather than a mere tactical ploy.” This partly explains why the Soviet leadership did not just start shooting people left and right — as their Chinese colleagues were more than happy to do. “Gorbachev’s (and others’) reluctance to use large-scale force,” Kramer tells us, “to hold the USSR together was not simply a matter of expediency or an effort to avoid antagonizing the West. Rather it reflected a fundamental change in the reformers’ collective identity.” (III, 85)
Kramer does not investigate more deeply why the men in the Kremlin came to see themselves differently, but one possibility is that Communist leaders — who primarily always saw themselves as Europeans — were somehow convinced that their fellow Europeans (and even those cursed Americans) were right, and that they were wrong, and that they were increasingly nagged by the growing sense that they were doing something fundamentally wrong to other human beings. (Anatolii Chernaev once remarked that among a certain group of older Soviet leaders, for example, Reagan’s reference to the USSR as an “evil empire” truly stung them, not least because it was an insult they feared they might have genuinely have deserved.) [6]
The degree to which moral pressure by leaders like Reagan or Pope John Paul II, or the examples of virtue found in people like Havel, brought about change in the minds of Communist leaders is a tantalizingly interesting question, and ripe material for a future study (hopefully while these former leaders are still alive to be interviewed).
Kramer also notes that his study informs some of the previous work done on how protest movements can “spin off” into other regions, with the case of Solidarity providing a detailed look at how such spin-offs happen. Of particular interest in the Soviet case is that internal Soviet conditions had to change enough for a spin-off movement to take root, thus illustrating the interplay of external and domestic change in bringing about regime collapse. He also applies his data to the idea of Sidney Tarrow’s “cycles of protest,” although I found this to be a less interesting section, primarily because I see Kramer’s narrative as already having gotten inside the “cycle” and explained it usefully without a need for a theoretical apparatus to be appended.
Finally, Kramer reaches a conclusion that could almost be a word of advice to future dictators: when faced with protest, if you’re going to use violence, go all the way. Kramer’s findings validate the general findings in the literature that “violent repression can halt the spread of political unrest, provided that it is used consistently and decisively. The inconsistent and irresolute use of force is likely to stimulate, rather than diminish, the level of protest.” (III, 91)
Conclusion
In the end, Kramer is too modest about his findings. He refers to the spillover from Eastern Europe as only one of many factors that led to the Soviet collapse, but his study makes a good case that it was an incredibly important one. As Kramer notes:
“The momentous changes that Gorbachev introduced in the Soviet Union would have made it difficult for him to preserve the Soviet system (and perhaps even the Soviet state) under the best of circumstances, but the repercussions from the collapse of East European Communism greatly complicated his task.” (III, 96)
This is tremendous understatement. While I continue to believe that the ideological and military competition with the United States forced the USSR to seek a truce, and to retreat from its ambitions as a global revolutionary power, Kramer has presented us with an extremely powerful explanation of why, in the midst of this disengagement from global conflict with the West, the Soviet leadership suffered a truly existential loss of self-confidence that led to their accepting the collapse of their empire, and then the euthanizing of the Soviet state itself.
Mark Kramer’s study is a ground-breaking piece of scholarship that goes far toward answering the question of why Soviet leaders chose not to fight the end of their regime. It also illuminates important theoretical questions about how ideas find their way across borders and change people and institutions. He has shown us, at least in one corner of the world, how dictators begin to lose their stomach for rule, and how more virtuous ideas can displace fundamentally inhuman or corrupted ones, thus leading to change on a global scale.
The events in Eastern Europe demonstrated clearly to the Soviet leadership that their model of government was a failure more clearly than any insult that Ronald Reagan could fling at them; worse, the collapse of the Pact’s regimes opened the chilling possibility that Reagan, and others like him who had warned for years that Communism was unviable and even evil, were right. In 1989 and 1990, the men in the Kremlin, as well as ordinary Soviet citizens, were forced to face the terrible reality that their putative “allies” deeply hated the Soviet Union and everything it stood for. The trauma of seeing the lie revealed and the illusion dispelled was too much for many of them to bear, and years of carefully constructed self-delusion came crashing down in pieces. And when Soviet demonstrators began to emulate their Eastern European counterparts, their leaders had no compelling answer to give them about why the Union should even exist.
Some years ago, I visited an Israeli military commander on the West Bank during the Palestinian protests collectively called the Intifada. Pointing to the amount of military force at his disposal, he said: “I could end the Intifada tomorrow if I chose to.” Well, why didn’t you, he was asked. “Because I am a human being,” he said simply.
Mark Kramer has shown us how, and why, Soviet leaders similarly reached the decision to be human beings. I sincerely hope he intends to expand these three articles and then release a full volume. But even these three installments easily stand as one of the most important studies on how one of the most dangerous empires in history came to the quiet end it did, and he is to be commended for adding to our knowledge about a page in history that is far more important than we may have ever realized.
[3] Valentin Varennikov: “My srazhalis’ za Rodinu’”, _Zavtra_, 17(22), May 1994, pp. 1-2.
[4] Quoted in Thomas Nichols, _The Russian Presidency_, rev. and exp. ed. (New York: Palgrave, 2001), p. 77.
[5] One of the best examples of this kind of continual optimism among certain Sovietologists came from Stephen Meyer of MIT, who dismissed Yazov’s promotion in a New York Times op-ed as likely to be “a gold watch for impending retirement” rather than any evidence of increased political power. Over a year later, he told the Senate Foreign Relations committee that “hints of military coups are pure flights of fancy” in testimony he gave on June 6, 1991–just nine weeks before Gorbachev’s temporary ouster. See Stephen Meyer, “The Army Isn’t Running Gorbachev,”
http://web.mit.edu/newsoffice/tt/1990/may30/23250.html, and Stephen M. Meyer, “Testimony Before The Senate Foreign RelationsCommittee,” in Theodore Karasik, ed., _Russia and Eurasia Armed ForcesReview Annual_, Vol. 15, 1991 (Gulf Breeze, FL: Academic International Press, 1999), p. 348.
[6] See Nina Tannenwald, ed., “Understanding the End of the Cold War,1980-1987: An Oral History Conference,” (Providence, RI: Watson Institute for International Studies, 1999), p. 251.